


Une Petite Mort

by Mythdefied



Category: Hercules: The Legendary Journeys
Genre: M/M, Zombies, braaaains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 04:30:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/646581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythdefied/pseuds/Mythdefied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strife’s legs were starting to shake, thighs aching with exertion; even as a god he was hitting his limits. He suspected he’d pushed Deimos past his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Une Petite Mort

_This_ was Elysium. Nirvana, Valhalla and Heaven all in one. Deimos beneath him, sprawled out on the blood-soaked ground of the fresh battlefield, moaning and writhing, pushing back against him as Strife slowly rode him. Easing his cock in, sliding back out, hissing at the tight grip of Deimos’ ass. Grabbing Deimos’ hips, tilting them up just a little more, finding the right-- Deimos cried out, a shudder running through him, fingers digging into red mud.

“Yeah, right there,” Strife breathed the words, a trickle of sweat running down his back as he forced himself to keep up the slow, steady pace.

They’d been at it for...Fates only knew how long. Hours, maybe. Deimos first holding himself open, telling Strife how he wanted it, ordering him to do it faster and harder, then asking, then begging. Now he could barely hold himself upright, limbs trembling, sweat glistening on his blood-soaked skin. His words had long since vanished into desperate, broken whimpers.

“I could do this for-freakin’-*ever*,” Strife said, his voice ragged. “Fuck, this is hot.” He couldn’t get enough of watching it, the sight of his hands, pale against Deimos’ skin, holding the cheeks of his ass spread wide, giving Strife a perfect view of his cock pushing in and out of Deimos’ wide-stretched hole, slicked with Strife’s come. He’d lost track of how many times they’d both come, but he wasn’t stopping and Deimos was still hard, too.

Strife’s legs were starting to shake, thighs aching with exertion; even as a god he was hitting his limits. He suspected he’d pushed Deimos past his. It wouldn’t be too much longer before --

It hit him hard, slamming into him like a war chariot. His vision flashed red, ears ringing with the scream ripped from his throat. Coming so hard it _burned_ , slamming into Deimos over and over and over and....

When Strife pried his eyes open -- only managing one, the other side of his face was smashed against Deimos’ sweaty back -- he was collapsed on top of Deimos. He could feel tiny tremors running through Deimos’ body beneath his, or maybe that was his own body shaking in the aftermath of what had to be one of the best orgasms of his long life.

“Mmmm,” Deimos moaned.

“Uh-huh,” Strife agreed, his voice slurring.

“Urrrr,” Deimos moaned again.

“Yeah, totally.” Strife flicked his tongue out, tasting salt and copper and the sharp flavor of Deimos himself.

“Rwrr.”

“Can’t remember how to speak yet, huh?” Strife said with a triumphant smirk. Oh yeah, he was _that_ good.

“Orrwr.”

“Gimme a couple minutes and I’ll make sure you can’t even remember how to speak. If my cock isn’t broken,” he muttered under his breath, wincing as he slid free of Deimos’ ass. Damn, if gods could bruise....

“What’re you talking about?” Deimos’ voice was muffled, his face pressed into the mud.

“You, down there moaning and groaning.” Strife’s smirk widened. “Not that it’s a surprise or anything, me leaving you speechless.”

“Gurrr.”

“Yep, just like that.” Strife managed to move one hand enough to pat Deimos’ arm patronizingly.

“Huh?” Deimos lifted his head, spit out mud before speaking again. “That wasn’t me,” he said.

“Oh, _sure_ it was--”

“Rarrrgh!”

Okay, _that_ hadn’t come from Deimos.

It took some effort, but Strife slid himself off Deimos. Rolling to the side, he shoved himself up on his elbows -- and froze.

“Uhhhh.” He meant to say more than that, really, but nothing coherent would come out.

“Strife?” Deimos suddenly sounded more than a little freaked out. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

Strife could only nod, wide-eyed.

All around them the corpses of dead soldiers were rising to their feet. Headless bodies stood side by side with corpses dragging their entrails, others with their heads or chests split open, some impaled with various weapons, some missing eyes, lips and skin where the buzzards had feasted. A couple armless and legless torsos were jerking in place, while others with one arm or two, were slowly dragging themselves in Strife and Deimos’ direction.

“Are they--”

“Yeah,” Strife cut Deimos off, swallowing hard. All of the corpses were focusing on them, walking/stumbling/crawling towards them, gurgling moans and groans coming from whatever remained of their throats.

“Ahhh!” Deimos yelled and kicked at a bodiless hand that had wrapped around his ankle. It went flying into the growing crowd of animated corpses and Deimos went scuttling backwards -- until he butted up against a decapitated head. The...thing opened its jaws and tried to--

“Oh _shit_!” Strife scrambled to his feet, staring in shock at the head that had just tried to take a bite out of a _god_. Good thing Deimos could move fast when he had to, or he’d be missing a chunk of his ass. Strife _liked_ that ass.

“Blast ‘em!” Strife said, feeling the edge of pissed off. No one and nothing attacked a god and got away with it! He raised his hands, concentrating, focusing his power.

Nothing happened.

Gritting his teeth, he reached deep and _pulled_ , tapping his reserves to carve out an escape path.

Still nothing.

“No!” Standing now, Deimos was shaking his hands, giving them a betrayed look. “I’m tapped out!” he said, his gaze startled, frightened and bewildered all at the same time when he looked up at Strife.

“I got nothin’,” Strife said. “We must’ve blown all our power when we...blew.”

Which left them naked, weaponless and surrounded by rapidly closing corpses.

The nearest shambling thing reached out towards them, dragging a nearly hacked off leg behind it. “Braiiins,” it gurgled out the word, fingers grasping, teeth snapping hungrily.

Strife looked at Deimos. Deimos met his gaze, eyes wide with dawning horror.

The thing touched them, fingers trying to grip their hair.

Strife was screaming before he realized it, echoing Deimos’ own terrified shriek, and they were both running. Trying to. Shoving and kicking aside corpses that tried to hold and bite them, stumbling over writhing body parts. They fought for every step and no matter how many they took down, there were always more. And the ones that went down just got right back up again.

“How do you _kill_ these things?” Strife shouted, and only got a high-pitched whimper from Deimos in reply.

Suddenly, the mass of groaning, grasping corpses in front of them just...froze. No movement, no sound, just instant corpse statues. Strife and Deimos exchanged bewildered looks, but the corpses behind and beside them were still pressing close, there was no time to wonder what happened. Strife shoved forward into the frozen corpses, and they fell like blocks of wood. One falling into another and another and they all went down in a stiff pile, leaving the way clear -- right up to where Hades stood in his chariot.

“Hades!” Deimos cried out in relief, running right over the frozen corpses.

Strife was close on his heels. “Get us out of here!” he yelled, flinging himself at the side of the chariot when he was close enough, trying to climb inside. Deimos was right next to him, though, scrambling up and there wasn’t enough room for both of them and their hands slipped. They dropped to the ground, Deimos landing on his back, Strife landing half way on top of him, knocking the breath out of him.

“What the shit is _this_?” Hades demanded, glaring down at them, one arm swinging out to encompass the battlefield. “I come here to do my job, and what do I find? You two running around naked, reanimating *my* dead!”

“What--? No!” Strife scrambled up to his feet, grabbing hold of the edge of the chariot. “We didn’t do anything!”

“It’s not our fault!” Deimos was beside him again, giving Hades an earnest look. “We were just -- and then they were -- and--and grabbing and _biting_ and they want to eat our _brains_!” He shuddered hard.

Hades snorted. “Well, they wouldn’t have found much to eat, would they?”

“Hey--!” Strife started to protest, but Hades cut him off.

“Maybe Ares falls for your lines, but the air is thick with your powers,” Hades said angrily. “Do you have _any_ idea how hard it is to undo another god’s work?” He jabbed a finger behind them.

Looking over his shoulder, Strife couldn’t repress a shiver when he saw the pile of frozen corpses starting to move again. The other, unfrozen ones were slowly shambling their way closer.

“Their souls are still trapped in those bodies, you idiots! I should make Ares assign you to me until _you_ work out how to sort through this mess!”

Strife cringed back; Deimos whimpered. Both of them kept glancing back at the steadily approaching corpses.

“But if I did that, I’d probably end up with a country full of walking dead inside of a week,” Hades said in disgust. “Just get out of here, now, before I decide it’d be more entertaining to toss you to those things.”

“Our powers are kind of on the fritz,” Strife admitted, inching closer to the chariot. “It’s over ten leagues to Ares’ nearest temple. That’s way too far to hike it; can’t you just take us?”

“Does this look like a rent-a-chariot service to you?” Hades’ eyes narrowed dangerously.

Strife quickly shook his head and stepped away from the chariot, Deimos mirroring him.

Then Hades’ gaze moved away from them, focusing behind them and he sighed, a put-upon sound. “Oh, wonderful; they’re organized now. This is _definitely_ going to make me miss dinner. Persephone probably won’t speak to me for the rest of the week.” He shook his head resignedly.

“Organized?” Deimos mouthed the word apprehensively.

Together, he and Strife reluctantly looked back at the corpses.

The things surged forward in unison, hands extended, growling and roaring.

Strife didn’t know whose scream was louder, his or Deimos’. Deimos was definitely quicker, though, ducking around the chariot and taking off so fast it was a struggle for Strife to keep up. 

Ten leagues suddenly seemed like a very, very reasonable distance.

 

Fin

**Author's Note:**

> This is Candace's fault. Written for the Spooky Strife Halloween 2007 Challenge on the strife_lust list.
> 
> Note on the title for those not familiar with French (a.k.a. it's funnier when I don't have to explain it): The French phrase "La petite mort" is literally translated as "the little death," a French title for an orgasm. By changing "La" to "Une," I changed it to "a little death," which, in the context of this fic, is a play on the phrase, a double entendre, and a pun.


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